Stories posted by KaiAidan

[KaiAidan]

well I didnt wnat to add to many threads and and I have a bunch of sotries off of the yahoo group so I figured I would post them in one thread lol

[KaiAidan]

TWO WITCHES
A Modern Craft Fairy-Tale
by Mike Nichols

Once upon a time, there were two Witches. One was a Feminist Witch and the other was a Traditionalist Witch. And, although both of them were deeply religious, they had rather different ideas about what their religion meant. The Feminist Witch tended to believe that Witchcraft was a religion especially suited to women because the image of the Goddess was empowering and a strong weapon against patriarchal tyranny. And there was distrust in the heart of the Feminist Witch for the Traditionalist Witch because, from the Feminist perspective, the Traditionalist Witch seemed subversive and a threat to "the Cause".

The Traditionalist Witch tended to believe that Witchcraft was a religion for both men and women because anything less would be divisive. And although the Goddess was worshipped, care was taken to give equal stress to the God-force in nature, the Horned One. And there was distrust in the heart of the Traditionalist Witch for the Feminist Witch because, from the Traditionalist viewpoint, the Feminist Witch seemed like a late-comer and a threat to "Tradition".

These two Witches lived in the same community but each belonged to a different Coven, so they did not often run into one another. Strange to say, the few times they did meet, they felt an odd sort of mutual attraction, at least on the physical level. But both recognized the folly of this attraction, for their ideologies were worlds apart, and nothing, it seemed, could ever bridge them.

Then one year the community decided to hold a Grand Coven, and all the Covens in the area were invited to attend. After the rituals, the singing, the magicks, the feasting, the poetry, and dancing were concluded, all retired to their tents and sleeping bags. All but these two. For they were troubled by their differences and couldn't sleep. They alone remained sitting by the campfire while all others around them dreamed. And before long, they began to talk about their differing views of the Goddess. And, since they were both relatively inexperienced Witches, they soon began to argue about what was the "true" image of the Goddess.

"Describe your image of the Goddess to me," challenged the Feminist Witch. The Traditionalist Witch smiled, sighed, and said in a rapt voice, "She is the embodiment of all loveliness. The quintessence of feminine beauty. I picture her with silver-blond hair like moonlight, rich and thick, falling down around her soft shoulders. She has the voluptuous young body of a maiden in her prime, and her clothes are the most seductive, gossamer thin and clinging to her willowy frame. I see her dancing like a young elfin nymph in a moonlit glade, the dance of a temple priestess. And she calls to her lover, the Horned One, in a voice that is gentle and soft and sweet, and as musical as a silver bell frosted with ice. She is Aphrodite, goddess of sensual love. And her lover comes in answer to her call, for she is destined to become the Great Mother. That is how I see the Goddess."

The Feminist Witch hooted with laughter and said, "Your Goddess is a Cosmic Barbie Doll! The Jungian archetype of a cheer-leader! She is all glitter and no substance. Where is her strength? Her power? I see the Goddess very differently. To me, she is the embodiment of strength and courage and wisdom. A living symbol of the collective power of women everywhere. I picture her with hair as black as a moonless night, cropped short for ease of care on the field of battle. She has the muscular body of a woman at the peak of health and fitness. And her clothes are the most practical and sensible, not slinky thingytail dresses. She does not paint her face or perfume her hair or shave her legs to please men's vanities. Nor does she do pornographic dances to attract a man to her. For when she calls to a male, in a voice that is strong and defiant, it will be to do battle with the repressive masculine ego. She is Artemis the huntress, and it is fatal for any man to cast a leering glance in her direction. For, although she may be the many-breasted Mother, she is also the dark Crone of wisdom, who destroys the old order. That is how I see the Goddess."

Now the Traditionalist Witch hooted with laughter and said, "Your Goddess is the antithesis of all that is feminine! She is Yahweh hiding behind a feminine mask! Don't forget that it was his followers who burned Witches at the stake for the "sin" of having "painted faces". After all, Witches with their knowledge of herbs were the ones who developed the art of cosmetics. So what of beauty? What of love and desire?"

And so the argument raged, until the sound of their voices awakened a Coven Elder who was sleeping nearby. The Elder looked from the Feminist Witch to the Traditionalist Witch and back again, saying nothing for a long moment. Then the Elder suggested that both Witches go into the woods apart from one another and there, by magick and meditation, that each seek a "true" vision of the Goddess. This they both agreed to do.

After a time of invocations, there was a moment of perfect stillness. Then a glimmer of light could be seen in the forest, a light shaded deepest green by the dense foliage. Both Witches ran toward the source of the radiance. To their wonder and amazement, they discovered the Goddess had appeared in a clearing directly between them, so that neither Witch could see the other. And the Traditionalist Witch yelled "What did I tell you!" at the same instant the Feminist Witch yelled "You see, I was right!" and so neither Witch heard the other.

To the Feminist Witch, the Goddess seemed to be a shining matrix of power and strength, with courage and energy flowing outward. The Goddess seemed to be holding out her arms to embrace the Feminist Witch, as a comrade in arms. To the Traditionalist Witch, the Goddess seemed to be the zenith of feminine beauty, lightly playing a harp and singing a siren song of seduction. Energy seemed to flow towards her. And she seemed to hold out her arms to the Traditionalist Witch, invitingly.

From opposite sides of the clearing, the Witches ran toward the figure of the Goddess they both loved so well, desiring to be held in the ecstasy of that divine embrace. But just before they reached her, the apparition vanished. And the two Witches were startled to find themselves embracing each other.

And then they both heard the voice of the Goddess. And, oddly enough, it sounded exactly the same to both of them. It sounded like laughter.

[KaiAidan]

Goddess, Are You Real?




A Little child whispered, "Goddess, speak to me."

And a meadowlark sang. But the child did not hear.

So the child yelled, "Goddess, speak to me!"

And the thunder rolled across the sky.

But the child did not listen.

The child looked around and said, "Goddess let me

me see you." And a star shone brightly.

But the child did not notice.

And the child shouted, "Goddess show me a miracle!"

And a life was born. But the child did not know

So the child cried out in despair, "Touch me

Goddess, and let me know you are here!"

Whereupon the Goddess reached down and touched

the child. But the child brushed the butterfly away

and walked away unknowingly.


Author unknown.


as if we couldn't figure out I cant spell sometimes lol

[TribalSpirit]

hehe I like the first story!! and the second story is always something good to read so we too can remember.

[KaiAidan]

Goody Hawkins - The Wise Goodwife

A story by Leigh Ann Hussey.

"Gramma, I feel hot."

"Lands, child, on a cool fall day like this? Come
here and let me feel of your forehead. Tsk! Feels
like fever. Off to bed with you!"


"Gramma, I don't feel good."

"I know, child, I know. I reckon it's time to ask
Goody Hawkins to help us."

"Who's Goody Hawkins?"

"Hush, now, try to sleep. I'll come back soon."

"Gramma, where did you go?"

"Out into the woods back of the farm, child."

"Why, Gramma?"

"To get Goody Hawkins' help."

"Who's Goody Hawkins?"

"Well, that's a long story."

"Tell me a story, Gramma."

Well, you know 'bout the pilgrim days, thanksgiving
and all. Those people way back then, that first time,
were giving thanks that they'd lived a whole year in a
whole new country, without too many of 'em dyin'.

Lotta times you see pictures, drawings, with lots of
Indians standin' there to welcome them folks. Well,
'taint so. Weren't nobody there
when they got off that boat, not but one Indian, all
alone. Hist'ry books say it was him, Squanto, as
taught them first folks how to live through one of our
winters - ice 'n sleet 'n snow 'n all, not like they
had back in England, where they come from. But that
ain't rightly so, neither. Squanto, and a few other
friendly Indians as wandered in later,they taught the
menfolk. But the women, those days, well, they
weren't s'posed to be important, even though they did
most o' the work, so we don't hear 'bout them much.

Well, a woman come off'n that boat, not quite yet old
as your mamma,and her name was Grace Hawkins, but
ever' one called her Goody Hawkins.
"Goody" is short for "good wife", and it's like
callin' a lady "Missus" today.

Goody Hawkins was young and pretty, though you
couldn't tell that very well, 'cause in those days the
womenfolk wore long skirts and long sleeves and
bonnets to tuck in and hide their hair. So Goody
Hawkins had beautiful long brown hair, though you
couldn't see it, and skin soft as the skin of a peach.
But she had a nice young husband who loved her
very much, and he knew how pretty she was. And Goody
Hawkins was one more thing that made her very special:
she was a wise woman, who knew plants and herbs and
roots and barks to make sick people feel better.
They didn't have doctors like we do now, just a lot of
men who figured if you were sick your blood was bad
and so they'd make you bleed. That got people sicker,
more often than not. They thought they were real
smart, them old doctors, and maybe they were smart
about gettin' money from folks. But they weren't
smart 'bout the folks themselves, mostly 'cause they
were too busy listening to each other talking
'bout high-falutin' doctor things in big words than
listening to the sick bodies of the sick people.

But Goody Hawkins was different. She listened to the
people talking 'bout what hurt them, and she felt of
their heads and wrists and looked into their eyes and
ears and mouths. And sometimes she didn't seem to
look at them at all. She just closed her eyes and
looked at them with her heart. And then she'd go into
big clay pots and little wooden boxes in her house,
and pick out just the thing a sick person needed. And

do you know how she knew just the right thing, how
Goody Hawkins could see with her heart and not just
her eyes?

'Cause Goody Hawkins was a witch.

No, not like you dress up at Halloween. A real witch,
a real wise woman. No warts, no wire hair, remember I
told you she was pretty. And no flying broom, neither.
She didn't need to fly, 'cause she could
see ev'rything. Well, no, she didn't have a crystal
ball. But the way my granny told me, and her granny
told her, was that she had a big silver bowl, a real
treasure. And she'd pour clear rainwater in that
bowl, and look into it in the nighttime, with just a
candle for light. And they say she could see miles
away, and even years away. Into yesterday,say, or
last year, or ten years ago. And sometimes, she
could see tomorrow.

A cauldron? Why of course she had a cauldron.
Ever'one did, those days, just like we have pots and
pans today. But she only had a little one at
first-remember, they were poor in them first few years
in
America, and iron costed a lot of money. Goody
Hawkins had just the little cauldron she brought with
her from home, only as big as my big soup pot.

What did she boil up in her cauldron? Well, not
babies, I can tell you that!
It was herbs, mostly, tree bark and roots and such.
Anise and coltsfoot, simmered with a little sugar or
honey, as good a cough syrup as you can find nowadays,
and even better than some. That's a recipe
my granny's granny knew, and likely Goody Hawkins as
well. Goody Hawkins made ointments from herbs and
grease, she made soaps for fleas and lice, she brewed
teas, she made mashes for cuts and bad hurts to make
them heal clean and fast.

But I haven't told you the best part: Goody Hawkins
could do magic. Not like making scarves disappear in
her fist or pulling quarters out of your ear. I mean
spells, oh yes, and special little bundles of
things in little bags to keep in your pocket or put
under your pillow. These had herbs in 'em, yes, and
besides that she could put in a special rock, maybe,
or a little short twig from a certain tree, or a piece
of paper with secrets written on it, or any such small
thing. You could wear one for good luck, or sleep on
one to have good dreams.

In the nighttime, often, you could see a light shining
in Goody Hawkins' cottage, warm and bright, and if you
listened real hard, you might hear words, strong and
beautiful, or singing so soft and sweet it
might have come out of a fairy hill. And in the
daytime, oh, the smells that came out of that cottage!
You could tell what was brewing by
the smells of the herbs in the breeze. Rosemary,
mint, clove and cinnamon, lemon-leaf, basil, horehound
and lavender. And hanging from the ceiling in one
corner of the cottage were always bunches of drying
herbs, filling the whole room with spicyness and
sweetness. She brought the little boxes special from
her home in England, but the rest she got right here,
from the meadows and forests.

One day she was in the forest, gathering plants for
medicines. Some of the plants were just like at home,
she knew them right away. Others she didn't know, and
them she would look at, and smell, and taste of-it
was right dangerous, that, but weren't no other way to
find out about 'em. This spring day, after their
first long hard, winter had passed,Goody Hawkins went
to pluck a leaf off'n a plant, to taste it. Suddenly,
she heard a crashing in the bushes and a woman's voice
crying out to her. She turned around and who should
she see but an Indian woman, near her own age, come
runnin' toward her, talkin' words she couldn't
understand.
This Indian woman, she snatched that leaf from Goody
Hawkins and shooed her away from that plant quick as
she could. The Indian woman pulled out a thin stick,
rounded at one end, and waved it so that Goody
Hawkins thought the other woman might hit her with it,
so she backed up, afraid. But the Indian woman turned
to the plant and commenced to digging it out of the
ground with her stick, digging up the roots. The
Indian woman pulled off the roots and pushed them into
Goody Hawkins' hands, keeping some for herself. She
put the roots into a deerskin bag,and 'twas then that
Goody Hawkins saw other herbs and things in that bag,
and figured out that t'other woman was in the woods
for just the same job as herself, namely, getting
herbs.

Even though they didn't speak each other's language,
by pantomiming and pointing they could understand each
other, and Goody Hawkins learned that the leaf she'd
been about to eat was deadly poison. But the
roots were good eating, roasted or boiled just like a
potato. How 'bout that! Plants are funny that way.

[KaiAidan]

Goody Hawkins cont

Goody Hawkins realized she owed her life to the Indian
woman, for warnin' her off'n them leaves. But she
didn't know just how to thank her new friend. Still,
they spent the rest of the day walkin' in the
woods, an' Goody Hawkins learned more about the new
world's plants in one day than she could've in weeks
if she'd had to figure things out for herself. And by
the end of the day, Goody Hawkins knew some Algonquin,

and the Indian woman, Namequa, knew some words in
English. Namequa saw Goody Hawkins back to the little
town and then faded into the trees almost like magic.

Well, the seasons came and went, and Goody Hawkins had
her hands full trying to keep people well, what with
the snakes and unfriendly Indians and poisonous plants
all around. The folks couldn't get none of the
plants they brought with 'em to grow very well, 'cause
the weather was so different from England's. That
mean that folks weren't eatin' right,and 'specially
with the children that was bad. But Namequa showed
Goody Hawkins plants that were good eating, and Goody
Hawkins showed the other womenfolk, and for a time the
folks there lived like Indians, what with the menfolk
learnin' to hunt and fish from Squanto and the women
learnin' to gather wild plants to eat from Goody
Hawkins and Namequa.

That first thanksgiving feast, they didn't eat just
the corn and squash and beans that Squanto showed the
men how to grow, they also had roasted-seed mush and
lamb's-quarters gathered by the women. All those, and

the deer the neighboring Indians brought, well, that
was some dinner!
Well, little by little, them folks got settled.
Other ships came, with more people, and, later, with
cows and other stock. And then Goody Hawkins was
busier than ever, 'cause she was s'posed to take care
of sick animals, too. Back then, if a cow didn't give
milk, folks were apt to think the fairies had stolen
the milk in the night, so 'twas only natural they
should ask their wise woman for help. Before long,
there were babies, too, human and animal, and mothers
needed Goody Hawkins'help to bring 'em into the world.
Somehow, though, through all of this,
Goody Hawkins kept time to visit with her good friend,
and to keep learning, and to look into her silver bowl
every now and again.

Well, the years went on, and ever'body got older, and
some folks just died from getting old. Goody Hawkins'
husband died too, and they hadn't any children, so
Goody Hawkins should have been alone in the world.
But she had her friend Namequa, and every little child
in the town called her "Aunt Grace". She wasn't their
real aunt, you know, but they loved her like she was,
'cause she made them things, like sweet-scented
pillows, and spicy cookies, and she always listened to
them when they told her things. Goody Hawkins had
learned a lot from Namequa's tribe, and now that she
had no husband to take care of,she spent more time
visiting with her Indian friends, and they learned
from her too.

Indian magic is full of drums and dreaming. Goody
Hawkins' magic was full of words and wishing. But she
was careful not to let the rest of the folks know she
was learnin' and teachin' magic.

Why not?

Well, folks don't like what they don't understand, is
all. People were afraid of lots of things in them
days, 'specially in a strange new place. And as more
o' them Puritan preachers come over from England,
the folks would be more secret 'bout visiting Goody
Hawkins, not wanting the preachers to know they was
holding to the old ways. And the preachers,
'specially one Pastor Langford, looked sidewise and
never straight on at Goody Hawkins, bein' afraid she
might hex 'em or some such nonsense.

Well, Pastor Langford thought she was workin' for the
devil, but he didn't want to say it outright, 'cause
folks liked her. But even that was changing as Goody
Hawkins spent more time with Namequa's tribe, and
folk got to whispering about it.

There was a number of men interested in marryin' to
her, after her husband died, saying it wasn't right
for a woman to live alone, but she didn't care 'bout
any of 'em. She said no to all of 'em, and some of
'em went away mad. And folk got to saying things
outright.

One lady said she seen Goody Hawkins dancing naked
with all them Indians. Another said there was a demon
keeping Goody Hawkins company, which was why she
wasn't wanting to marry again. Somebody else said
that it was that demon that killed Goody Hawkins'
husband. All round town words buzzed like stinging
wasps. Now, when a cow wasn't giving milk, it was
Goody Hawkins, not the fairies, who they thought had
stolen it. Folks began to keep their children away
from her. And Pastor Langford came right out and made
fiery sermons about witches and the devil and sin and
punishment.

Goody Hawkins saw and heard all of this, but what
could she do? It was her word against the words of
respectable folk, and nobody was going to believe her.
So she kept silent, kept to herself, and waited.
She didn't have to wait long. One evening, she came
home from a visit to her Indian friends and found her
cottage in ruins. Jars were smashed, boxes thrown all
over. The herb-bunches had been torn down from the
ceiling, her cauldron overturned, Bible verses
scrawled all over the walls with charcoal from her
fireplace. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live",
they said, and Goody Hawkins felt cold in her heart
because she knew that the people wanted to kill her.
And worst of all, her beautiful silver bowl was all
bented and crushed, like someone had hit it
with a hammer. Goody Hawkins sat down at the table in
the midst of the mess, and cried. She felt helpless
and angry. She wished she really could turn people
into toads. She made half-hearted tries at cleaning
up, but gave it up. Her heart burned with wanting to
hurt the people who'd done it, and froze with knowing
her life wasn't worth a straw to 'em.

My granny said, that in that hour the devil did come
to her, offerin' to kill the townsfolk for her, if
she'd give up her soul to him, but Goody Hawkins
chased him out with her broom. I think more likely,
she thought about putting poison in the well-water,
but knew that not only would that poison the
townsfolk, it'd poison the water and the earth, and
the water and earth hadn't hurt her. And she knew
that killing all those folks would poison her soul,
too, forever, make her sour and angry as a real wicked
witch.

So instead, she gathered all her power to her, all
her love and strength; she threw down her hiding
bonnet, and shook out her hair, which was
getting grey by now, and walked proud and tall out
into the town square. The folks began to gather
round, saying hateful things. But Goody Hawkins
lifted up her arms and began to sing, strong and
sweet, in the old tongue that nobody but wise folk
could speak anymore. And when the folks saw that
their words couldn't hurt her, they commenced to pick
up stones to throw at her. But before they could
throw their stones, the preachers came and said she'd
have to have a proper trial. So soldiers took Goody
Hawkins away with them, away from the shouting people,
and she was still singing as they locked her up.

They tried to get her to tell them things, like was
she partners with the devil, and had she hexed people
and animals, and did she have a demon helper, and did
she change into a cat to steal milk, but she never
did nothing but close her eyes and sing softly,
smiling like she saw something beautiful. So finally
they gave up and took her to the courthouse.

There all kinds of people told stories about Goody
Hawkins and things she'd never really done. And all
through it, Goody Hawkins stood tall, and looked
straight in the faces of the folks as was doing
thetelling. When ever'one was through with their
lyin', the judge asked Goody Hawkins had she anything
to say.
Goody Hawkins looked round at the folks, looking like
your momma when she's gonna scold you, and began
tellin' each one what she'd done for them. This one
wouldn't be alive if Goody Hawkins hadn't helped his
mother with the birthing. That one's daughter was
deathly sick with fever, and Goody Hawkins cured her.
The other one's cows were dropping down dead before
Goody Hawkins found out they were eating poisonous
leaves. There wasn't one person in that courtroom
Goody Hawkins hadn't helped somehow over the years.
And folks were looking like you do when you're getting
a scolding and you know you've been wrong.

[KaiAidan]

Goody Hawkins cont

But Pastor Langford butted in and said that Goody
Hawkins must have led the cows to the poison leaves,
she must have made the little girl sick, she must have
put a hex on the mother so her baby had trouble
being born. And even though some folks still looked
uncertain, the rest of 'em started howling for Goody
Hawkins to die, and that was that.

They took her out to the town square where there was a
big oak tree, to hang her onto it. Some soldiers held
the crowd back, while two of the others tied Goody
Hawkins up, tied a rope around her neck, and threw
the other end over one of the branches of the tree.
Goody Hawkins wasn't scared to die, but she was scared
of the pain, though she didn't let the people see
that. She looked out at them and smiled, and was glad

to see some people quit their shouting and look
worried.

Pastor Langford come up, looking nervous, and said,
"Do you wish to confess your sins? You may yet be
forgiven and reach Heaven."

Goody Hawkins just smiled and said, "I have nothing to
confess or be forgiven for, nothing I am ashamed of.
I want no part of your heaven."

The preacher fairly threw a fit right there, choking
and stuttering, he wanted so bad to cuss and swear at
her but couldn't in front of the townsfolk. So he
just pointed to the soldier holding the end of the
rope, and he commenced to hauling on it.

Goody Hawkins felt the rope tighten and her ears
started to ring, and she took what she was sure was
her last breath. But suddenly there was a scream, and
the rope went loose. Her head cleared, she looked
around, and saw the soldier who'd been pulling her up
holding onto his arm, where there was an arrow
sticking out of it.

Folks was shouting and running all over the place,
and Goody Hawkins saw that a whole tribe of Indians
had come out of the woods like magic with bows and
arrows and spears and all. The soldiers couldn't get
a clear shot at none of the Indians, what with folks
running round like ants when their hill gets kicked
over. And in the middle of all that hollerin' and
confusion, Goody Hawkins felt a sharp blade between
her wrists, cutting the ropes that tied her.

There was two Indians there, a big young man and
Goody Hawkins' friend Namequa who held a finger to her
lips to shush her. The young man scooped Goody
Hawkins up in his arms, and ran into the woods
carrying her. All of a sudden, the Indians
disappeared like morning mist, and when the folks
looked round, Goody Hawkins was gone too.

The folks never saw her again, and Namequa's tribe
were never as friendly to them. Goody Hawkins'
cottage was just left to fall down and rot, and
nothing in it was ever touched. But some folks was
sorry Goody Hawkins was gone, 'specially when they got
sick, or their children or animals.

And one day a mother whose little baby was sick as
could be and nobody could help her, she went into the
woods by herself, carrying an iron pot. She walked
into a clearing, and waited, listening. The woods got
quiet, like they were listening too, and the lady
commenced to talking about the baby's problem and
asking for help of whoever was listening. She put the
pot down, turned around, and walked out of the woods
without looking back. The next day, she came back,
and where she'd left the pot, there was a little
bundle of herbs, wrapped up in a soft deerskin. She
ran home with it, and made it into tea for her baby,
and the baby got better.

Well, word of the cure got round among the womenfolk.
Real quiet like, it got round, not like the lies
'bout Goody Hawkins had gotten round before. They
kept it a secret from the preachers, and after a
while the preachers forgot about Goody Hawkins.

And ever' once in a while, a woman would slip away
from the town, out into the woods, carrying some small
thing, that she thought Goody Hawkins might be able to
use, knowing that Goody Hawkins was out there
somewhere, and would hear them. And always there
would be an herb packet there the next day, or a
little charm, or some such.
As the years went by, the herb packets stopped
appearing, but the woman who turned back would see a
shaft of light fall on some plant, and would take of
that back home with her. And finally, even that
stopped, but somehow the help always came, somebody
got better.

Tsk! Asleep already. Good.

"Child, what are you doing out of bed?"

"I feel better, gramma!"

"Let me feel of your forehead. Well, that's fine."

"Gramma, can I have my coat?"

"Where are you going, child?"

"Out to the woods, gramma."

"What's that you have there?"

"It's a picture, gramma, look."

"Well, that's right nice. I think I can guess who that
is. And I see you've given her back her silver bowl!
She'll be happy. Off you go, then."

"Bye, gramma. I'll come back soon."


I would like to add a little comment here: It's a
sad story to know that things like this actually
happened. Just think of all the lore and
information that was lost because of supersticion and
zealous christians. I have nothing against
Christians, just so long as they remember that God
gave every one free will to follow they're own paths.
And it is not theirs to judge. Such a shame, and sad
story.

[KaiAidan]

someones experience lol

Misplaced Deity sought by Christians.....!

So, I'm standing at a bus stop and they pull up. A car
load of well meaning, bible thumping nut cases that
are just frantic! The middle aged professionally
dressed woman rushes forward...She takes my arm
and with trembling voices she asks...."Have you found
Jesus?" Her eyes plead with an urgency that is out of
proportion to a bus stop Now normally I just politely
decline the sermon, and free religious paperwork that
such folk pawn off on unsuspecting by-standers. But,
unfortunately for her, she is the forth car to accost
me in the last 9 minutes. So by now I'm beginning to
wonder what the heck is wrong with these people. I
mean if its not Christians it is the Jehovah's
Witnesses.
Can a simple Druid get no peace?
So calmly as I can muster, without being sarcastic I
reply, "You People lost him, again??"
The woman looks confused. This is not the response she
was hoping for and she needs to regroup. She takes a
deep breath intending to launch into her sales pitch
for her God, and church, paying no heed to the
concept that I might not be into being converted. I
decide to not let her get going so I launch into a
speech of my own...
"What is wrong with you Christians? Every time I turn
around you've lost Him!" I hit her with a glare of
accusation. "I mean really..." I take a measured
breath. "How do you expect to have anyone follow a
deity that you can't even find!"
The poor woman looks stunned. This isn't going so
good. Panicked she looks desperately to the car...
Surely one of the men can help....Undaunted I press
on... "Maybe the problem is with you people... I
mean Muslims never seem to loose there deity. Come to
think of it neither do Jews, or Pagans of any kind."
I look at the man getting out of the car. He's all
smiles. "I realize You people used to burn people like
me at the stake... What was that about... deity even?
I may be a Pagan-heathen, but I have never ever
woke up panicked that I couldn't find my Goddess or
God. They are always right where they should be... In
the fire of my candle, in the air that I breathe, in
the earth that I stand on, in the water of my spring.
I never feel abandoned by my deity(ies)."
"Of course, you Christians aren't much fun..." I
continue. By now they are all out of the car.
Befuddled, aghast, and at a loss for words. "Of
course," I offer trying to give them some defense for
losing Jesus.
"He could have left due to religious differences. If I
remember correctly He was Jewish. So if you are really
so eager to find him..." I smile gently to soften the
blow. "Check the nearest synagogue. He's probably in
there. Also you folks should try and remember that
this is America... Where freedom of religion means ALL
religions."
Slowly they climb back into their car and drive away.
I stand at the bus stop... No pamphlets, no bible, no
dogma. I haven't found Jesus, but I haven't lost him
either:)
Someone sent this to you because they believe no one
can have to much Deity. It is a blessing in disguise.
You can keep it to your self or Pass it on. Oh, and if
you've found Jesus, please get his face on the
evening news A.S.A.P so the Christians can stop
looking for him.

[KaiAidan]

"zanykat"
thank you for your time

This little thing was posted on another group

What Do You Value Most?
========================

A young man learns what's most important in life from
the guy next door.

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man.

College, girls, career, and life itself got in the
way.
In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in
pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy
life, Jack had little time to think about the past and
often no time to spend with his wife and son.

He was working on his future, and nothing could stop
him.
Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died
last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories
flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he
sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

"Jack, did you hear me?"
"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long
since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly
thought he died years ago," Jack said.
"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him,
he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the
many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he
put it," Mom told him.
"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.
"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser
stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in
your life," she said.
"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I
wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him.
He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought
were important. Mom, I'll be there for the funeral,"
Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the
next flight to his hometown.

Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had
no children of his own, and most of his relatives had
passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his
mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more
time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It
was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap
through space and time.

The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step
held memories. Every picture, every piece of
furniture...

Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong, Jack?" his mom asked.
"The box is gone," he said.
"What box?" Mom asked.
"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top
of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times
what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing
I value most,'" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly
how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He
figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him,"
Jack said.
"I better get some sleep. I have an early flight
home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died.
Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a
note in his mailbox.

"Signature required on a package. No one at home.
Please stop by the main post office within the next
three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package.

The small box was old and looked like it had been
mailed a hundred years ago.

The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return
address caught his attention.

"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the
package.
There inside was the gold box and an envelope.

Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its
contents to Jack Bennett.

It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key
was taped to the letter.

His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack
carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a
beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers
slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the
cover.

Inside he found these words engraved:
"Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most...was...my time."

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his
office and cleared his appointments for the next two
days.

"Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.
"I need some time to spend with my son," he said.
"Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take
but by the moments that take our breath away."

[KaiAidan]

Flower Fairies/Tree Nymphs
~~Mary Summer Rain

Once upon a time, when our Earth was very young, all living plants,
flowers and trees were the same color -- a very dull gray. Mother
Nature looked down and thought how beautiful the world would be if
everything was a different color.

She called upon some of her Spirit Babies who like to play with
paints. These Spirits were always busy thinking up new colors to
paint with. Mother named them Flower Fairies.

Since each Flower Fairy was in charge of a different color, Mother
Nature said to them, "Go down on the Earth, and spread your glorious
colors on all living plants, flowers, trees and grasses. And when
the seasons change, make the colors change too. Go and paint the
morning and evening skies. Paint the deserts and the lonely mesas.
Painting all you see. I leave the color decisions up to you."

And so the little Flower Fairies giggled with so much happiness.
With painting pails and brushes in hand, they came to the Earth and
spread all their wondrous colors all about. They had buckets and
buckets of hues, tints, and shades of every color.

Tree Nymphs
The dictionary tells us that a "nymph" is a "female Nature Spirit".
A Tree Nymph is a girl Nature Spirit that lives among trees. Mother
Nature gave these special Babies of hers a very important task to do.

In the Spring time, when all the mother birds are busy building their
nests, the Tree Nymphs gather twigs and pieces of straw to help the
birds. And when the mother bird has to sit all day keeping her eggs
warm, the Tree Nymphs bring her food. After the eggs have hatched out
and the baby birds are noisily chirping and peeping for food, the
Tree Nymphs watch over the little baby birds while their mothers go
our in search of food for them.

The most important job of all though, is when the baby birds decide
they want to try to fly like their mamas. Their wings are not always
strong enough to hold them up and sometimes the Tree Nymphs are ready
to catch a falling fledgling and return it to its nest.

Mother Nature loves all the birds so she sent them Tree Nymph Spirits
to guard and watch over them.

The Fairies had such a fun time painting the tree trunks warm browns
and chalky whites. Then they spread shades of lush green on each and
every leaf. The flowers were gently brushed with tints of every soft
color they had.

Just when they were all done, autumn had arrived. Now they started
all over again with paints of orange, gold, red, and yellow to dazzle
the eyes of all who looked upon them.

[KaiAidan]

My Mom Is a Witch


Written by: Judith Barish

Here's 7-year old Casey talking about the witch. "She
had a green face, red eyes, really pointy nose, a
pointy black hat and an owl."
It was Halloween, and the kindergarten class was
reading about monsters and witches.

Casey's mother Deborah called the teacher to complain.
"I'm so sorry," said the teacher. "Is Casey scared? Is
he having nightmares?" "No," said Deborah.

"His father and I are witches, and we don't appreciate
Casey being exposed to stereotypical images of crones
on broomsticks."

While other kids attend Hebrew School or Easter Egg
hunts, witch kids accompany their parents to pagan
rituals. They dance around the Maypole on May Day.

At Halloween, they attend the Spiral Dance. At the
Summer Solstice, they help construct and burn a wicker
man on the beach.

Most kids brought up in a pagan community take to the
rites with zeal. "It's fun for them," said Anne Hill,
who co-authored a book on raising children in a
goddess tradition. It's cool to be a witch, said
Casey, who even has his own witch name.
Eleven-year-old Hazel assembled her own altar
decorated with what her father called "power objects:"
feathers, candles, bones.

Black magic? Nah. Pagan children apply their
witchcraft to the mundane details of gradeschool life.
"Casey's first spell was for the elephant at the zoo,"


Deborah told me. "The Asian elephant lost its mate,
and Casey was very sad about it. When we got home, he
made a circle of all his elephant toys, put a candle
in the middle, and made a spell so that the elephant
would get a new friend."

When fourteen-year-old Shannon got her first period,
her parents and the rest of their coven celebrated a
ritual in her honor, complete with presents.

Another preteen wanted to know if there was a ritual
for shaving the first hair that grew under her arms.

Do pagan children ever rebel and become, say,
investment bankers or Mormons?

Elissa was so embarassed by her parents that she told
her friends she was a Christian. But she is a rare
straight arrow. For most witch kids, equinox rituals
and the sun god are their cultural heritage, like
First Communion and the Virgin Mary are for Catholics.



In the Middle Ages, Deborah might have been burned at
the stake. At the end of the millennium in California,
she was invited to talk to Casey's class.

Afterwards, the teacher heard a different parental
complaint: "My child can't separate fantasy from
reality -- he insists Casey's mom is a witch."


~Disclaimer~
I am not the author of the above writings,nor do I
claim any credit.The author,if known,has been given
proper credit~However,I am the designer of this page
and therefore request that no alterations, deletions,
additions or adjustments be made to this page.This
material has been provided for educational purposes.
>>

[KaiAidan]

Snow Pixies/Nature Gnomes
~~Mary Summer Rain

Long ago, the season of winter was very gloomy. All
the lush trees were bare of leaves. The once green
grass was brown and dry. And all winter long,
everything was cold, grey and brown. "How drab
everything looks!" said Mother Nature. So she decided
then and three to dress winter up.

She called upon her Babies again. These she named
Snow Pixies. These little Spirits were always very
busy weaving beautiful designees out of a cold,
white, fluffy material. Mother Nature went to them
and said, "Do you think you could drop all your lovely
on the Earth in the winter? Your designs sparkle and
glisten so, I'm sure they would make the dull winter
turn into something beautiful!"

Well, I'll tell you! Those little Snow Pixie Spirits
were just so excited!
For now they had something to do with all those
designs they were making. They busied themselves and
made billions and billions of the snow designs
and, when they were done, they sprinkled them from the
clouds all over the dull, brown winterlands.

As it happened to turn out, the Snow Pixies changed
the winter into a splendid world of glittering white.
The Ssnow mad the whole land turn into a quiet,
gentle hush. The snow became a natural blanket for
many woodland creatures and it kept bitter, blustering
winds from their nests, burrows and dens. It
aslo gacve children whole new sledding, sliding and
building games to have fun with. People figured out
things to do with the nsow too. They made up a ski
game, made snow moobiles and snowwhoes. Everyone was
so happy with all the Snow Pixies work.

Nature Gnomes

Most people think gnomes are little, wee men who live
underground and guard treasure. Actually, gnomes ARE
little, wee men about as tall as your knee, but
they surely don't guard treasure of silver and gold.
Gnomes guard Mother Nature's treasure ... her animals.

Now, since these Nature Gnomes Spirits are so small,
and are like little old men with long, silky beards,
they can appear to look quite funny. Since Gnomes
don't much like being laughed at they take great care
that people don't ever see them.

Mother Nature send the Nature Gnomes to live on the
Earth to care for all her beloved animals. She gave
them a special home in her rich ground so that they
could live all over and hear the cries of any creature
that needed help.
It was the Nature Gnomes that put the white spots on
the baby deer's back so that the little fawns would
blend in with the forest floor to protect it from
any enemies. The Nature Gnomes make noise in the
woods so alert animals that hunters are nearby. They
tell the animals to take cover and get into their
homes when a storm is approaching. They are ever on
the lookout for the scent of smoke and are the ones to
alert the animals in the event of a forest fire.
And they guard over hibernating creatures so that they
can sleep through the long winter in peace.

If you SHOULD ever spy a Nature Gnome when you're deep
in a woodland forest, please don't giggle at him.
Tell him how much you appreciate all his loving
work.

**********

[KaiAidan]

SO, YOU WANNA BE A WITCH, EH?

Well, sit right here, by my side,

and I'll tell you the secrets of the tide ...

And just get comfy, honey child,

While I speak of nature, free and wild.

But, you don't have a cloak, or pointed hat??

Bah!! and Piffle!! .. What's with that?

The Witch is worn within the soul,

not donned for occasions, or kept in a bowl.

When you think of witches, you tremble at magic?

Oh, silly girl, that is indeed tragic!

Well, take a deep breath, and hold tight to my hand,

and together we'll dream to the edge of the land.

Where forest and sky kiss the edge of the waters,

Where spirits as we, claim a kinship with daughters

of elements born before words are remembered, and

feelings, and thoughts are no longer hindered.

Tis the every day things, that witches are 'ware of,

The Sun and the Moon, and the wee tiny cherub,

who tugs at our heart strings and drives us to madness,

yet gives us such joy, and fills us with gladness.

A soft gentle rain, nudging buds to full flower.

Hurricane! Twister! .. Such terrible power!

Candles, and hearth fire, warming and scented.

Forests ablaze! .. Volcanic stacks vented!

A mantle of snow, both preserves and gives pleasure.

Avalanch! Iceberg!! .. So full of treasure.

The Warmth of the Sun, bringing Life we so cherish.

Bleak desert landscape. Burnt tundra... we perish.

Now open your eyes, and look closely at me.

You came her so fearful, now what do you see?

A kindly old woman? An evil old hag?

A cloak of maturity? A dirty old rag?

Both sides of the coin. Light and dark we encompass

Good and evil abide, and still walk among us.

So be very sure, that a Witch you will be ...

for we own it ALL ... you and me .... you and me.

[KaiAidan]

Rainbow Leprechans/Spring Sprites/Merry Mermaid
~~Mary Summer Rain

Many people in America will tell you that there is no
such thing as a Leprechaun. You must go and ask the
Gentle people of Ireland, for they truly DO
believe in them. They even leave food out on their
doorstops at night for the Little People.

Mother Nature has found a very unique job for the
little elf spirits called Leprechauns. They have
taught the people on Earth the meaning of REAL
treasure.

The tale was spread far and wide that the Leprechans
loved gold, and that they gathered and hid all this
gold treasure in a big pot at the end of every
rainbow.

Well after many years of searching for the Leprechans
pot of gold and never finding it, people lost all
interest in it. Everytime they got near the end of
the rainbow, it would suddenly disappear.

The people now began to realize that the little
Leprechans were trying to teach them to appreciate
the treasure of the magnificent rainbow itself. The
people learned to love the gift of nature and not to
look for selfish prizes that were never there at all.

The next time you see a beautiful rainbow in the sky,
be thankful for all the good things you have in life.
And don't forget to thank the Lerprechans for
the rainbow too!

Spring Sprites

A sprite is a small Spirit.

The Spring Sprite was asked by Mother Nature to make
sure that the Season of Spring each year went as
planned.

We can thank the Spring Sprites for the sweetness they
put into the first Spring day to tell us that the long
days of winter are over with for another year.

They have an awful big job to do, for they not only
prepared nature for the Spring Season, they also help
all the animals prepare too.

Have you ever wondered where the morning dew on the
grass and flowers comes from? Well, it's all the
doing of the Spring Sprites. Before the sun is
awake, they sprinkle little drops of fresh water on
all the newly born flowers and grasses to give them
drinks for the warm day ahead.

The Spring Sprites make sure every caterpillar is safe
in its cocoon so the Woodland Elves can guard them
until they become butterflies. They gently touch
each and every tree bud so that the leaves can unfold
to greet the sun.

They dance on the flower petals and every bloom sends
out a different scent in return.

The next time you leave footprints over a blanket of
fresh morning dew, whisper thanks to the Spring Sprite
Spirits ... they'll always hear you.

Merry Mermaid

Mother Nature could see that all creatures of the land
were well cared for by her Nature Spirits. It
gladdened her heart to see such a good job
being done. "But what of all my sea creatures? Who
will care for them?" Said Mother Nature. "I will".
said a lonely girl Spirit. "I would like to care
for the little creatures of the sea."

And so it was that Mother Nature gave the little
Spirit girl a special body of water that would enable
her to swim under all the seas and waters of the
world. And Mother Nature named her Mermaid.

The little Mermaid was so happy to be able to help
Mother Nature that she spent all her days spreading
happiness among the creatures of the sea.
She did a good job too!

Have you ever heard anyone talk about a "school of
fish?" This means many fish of one kind swimming all
together. We have the little Mermaid to thank for
that because she taught them all to stay together for
safety.

She taught the octopus to hide himself by squirting
out black ink at his enemies. She showed the tiny
tropical fish how to quickly dart in and out of the
coral to escape from harm. She taught the big, gray
porpoise to guide lost boaters to the shore.

You will probably never, ever see this very merry
Mermaid, because deep under the sea, she is having too
much fun.

[KaiAidan]

The Vision of the 12 Stones
by David Sunfellow


There is blackness, everywhere. Nothing to see.
Nothing to hear.
Nothing to touch, or taste, or smell. There is only
blackness and a
silence so profound it cannot be described.
Suddenly, without warning, there is a tremendous
explosion. Blinding
light and deafening thunder shake the deepest recesses
of darkness.
Stars, moons, planets, stellar nebulae, solar systems,
galaxies
anduniverses all come whirling into existence.
As the universe gradually takes recognizable form, we
see our solar
system develop. We see our sun and planets. We see
moons, asteroid
belts, and comets. Then our planet fills our mind's
eye. We watch it
evolve through its many stages: Primal gases whirl
around, volcanoes
erupt, vast oceans of water form, land rises from the
tumultuous
seas -- and then begins to cool. Now, for the first
time, life begins
to form in the oceans and in the thick, gaseous air.
Creatures come
into being and begin their long journey to
ever-increasing
consciousness. We see the first one-celled creatures
and watch them
slowly transform themselves into new, more complex and
aware
creatures: plants, ferns and trees; fish, amphibians,
and animals
that can live on land, in the sea, and in the air.
Ages pass and vast
numbers of species come and go. Some disappear in the
twinkling of an
eye, the result of some global catastrophe, while
others slowly
evolve into other forms. Finally, after eons of
growth, we see the
earth as she exists today. From the deep recesses of
space we look at
her and are stunned by her magnificent beauty. And we
are also shaken
by how fragile she seems floating all alone in the
vast darkness of
space.
Looking closer, our hearts begin to ache with a pain
so deep we can
scarcely bear it. Silently we cry out, "What has
happened to our
mother?!" Her once brilliant skies have become dull
and toxic. Foul
stenches rise from her tortured waters, lands, and
skies. Holes form
in the blue canopy she has clothed herself in,
allowing the deadly
rays of the sun to penetrate her in most recesses and
destroy the
creatures she has so long protected, nurtured and
loved. Tears come
to our eyes. An unbearable sadness wells up within. We
pause and
solemnly reflect on how this could happen. And as we
reflect, we
begin to hear the faint beating of a drum. Like the
sound of some
primal heart beat, it calls to us and we are pulled
down through the
earth's atmosphere to the surface of the planet.
Silently we pass over shimmering oceans and lush
continents; across
vast deserts and sparkling glaciers; through
forest-covered
mountains; down wild rivers and dense life-filled
jungles.
Then we pass through the places that man has touched:
Through densely
populated cities and sparsely populated towns; through
seemingly
endless places of deforestation, pollution, and
man-made desolation.
And as we do, we begin to see, hear, and feel
hurricanes, tornadoes,
floods, droughts, and other natural disasters -- all
of which have
been caused by man's abuse of the earth.
And all the while the drum continues to beat and grow
stronger,
deeper, and more powerful. As we approach the origin
of the drum, an
ancient chant, made by a multitude of beings we cannot
see, softly
joins the drum. Day turns into night and the
desolation of man is
left behind. A panoramic view of starlit skies comes
into view. One
mountain range, dominated by jagged cliffs, draws our
attention. On
one seemingly inaccessible cliff we see a fire burning
and notice two
Native American figures -- an old Medicine Man and a
young brave --
sitting silently around it. Slowly, we circle them and
study their
faces in the flickering darkness. Lost in some deep
reverie, we
realize they are watching the same vision we are
watching.
We move closer. The deep wrinkles of a long life, well
lived, cover
the old man's face. He seems as old and strong as an
ancient redwood
and as full of life as a new sapling. Entranced by the
power of his
presence, we find it difficult to look away. Beside
him, the young
brave is equally captivating. A purity seems to
emanate from him.
Somehow we know he has a powerful dream buried deep in
his heart - a
dream that he will someday find and fulfill.
Suddenly, the old man takes a deep breath and slowly
opens his eyes.
For a moment, he quietly stares at the young brave.
And then he
speaks.
"Did you see?"
The young brave opens his eyes. His face is flushed
with deep concern
and unsettled feelings. "Yes, Grandfather, I saw."
"What do you think it means?"
Painfully, the brave answers, "Our Earth Mother is
dying!" "The
earthquakes and volcanoes. The raging waters. The
wars. The sick and
starving people. The weather. The world is coming to
an end isn't it,
Grandfather?"
The face of the old man fills our mind once again. We
watch as he
patiently soaks up the young brave's tortured
questions, but does not
answer. Instead, he looks compassionately into the
brave's
questioning eyes.
"Grandfather, I have heard the old ones talking and I
know the wise
ones among our people are gathering in the sacred
places. What am I
to do? Where am I to go?"
"Before doing and going, you must understand."
"Understand what, Grandfather?"
"Why the Earth Mother suffers."
There is a long, thoughtful pause, while the brave
studies the old
man's face and patiently waits for him to explain.
"Put your hand upon the Earth Mother, my son."
Tenderly, the brave places both hands firmly against
the earth. To
him, she is a living being. He feels the life force
pulsating through
her immense body.
"Now listen. What do you hear?"
A few moments pass. He searches the earth, and
himself, for some
sound. Startled, the brave looks deep into the old
man's eyes. "I
hear the sound of her heart beating! It is
everywhere!"
"Yes. Now listen again, even more deeply."
Taking a deep breath, the brave closes his eyes again.
Listening with
all his might, he follows the sound of her heartbeat
to another
sound, which startles him even more. Again his eyes
open in
amazement. "I hear another heart beating! Whose heart
is this?!"